Everything is Settled
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: "She wonders how it is that many brides come to be so terrified on their wedding nights but, then again, with the stories the older generations tell sometimes it's really no wonder. She's a little nervous, but not scared because she knows that she's married a man who absolutely adores her, who was her best friend and her equal... her partner just as much as her husband."
1. Alone at Last

**_I'm supposed to be revising for my exams but I couldn't let smut weekend pass without making at least some sort of contribution. I've never written about their wedding night before, which does surprise me as I've always had a pretty detailed idea of how it would happen. I've never had them down as being a couple who would be tearing each other's clothes off the second they walked though the door (at least not the first time, anyway) but I think they'd just want to enjoy their new freedom of being allowed to be alone together and not having to leave or worry about getting caught. There's not much smut but plenty of fluff and I'll probably right "the morning after the night before" when I have more time. Enjoy and let me know what you think :D_**

**_Oh and, by the way, I did post this last night but I've gone back and edited it since then._**

* * *

It had been such a beautifully sunny day when they'd woken up this morning but, in true Irish tradition, it hadn't lasted and the heavens had opened just before midnight. "It's good luck," almost everyone in the small crowd of family and friends who had come out to celebrate with them had said, and neither of them could really argue with that.

Laughing, Tom pulls his equally hysterical (and very wet) bride up the rickety old staircase towards that now familiar front door with its chipped green paint on the top floor. This is home now, **their **home, and still the reality of the situation hasn't quite kicked in yet - against all the odds, here they are as husband and wife and ready to start their new life together.

"You've got to carry her in, boyo," a voice says from behind the pair as Tom reaches into his pocket for the key. "It's tradition."

The newlyweds turn to see their neighbour, Mr Docherty, emerging from the flat next door to theirs as he heads out to work on the docks. He and his two teenage sons had gladly helped in carrying furniture whilst Mrs Docherty and their daughter had provided much needed sustenance for the workers. The Branson clan had come to know the Docherty's quite well in the weeks since Tom and Sybil had purchased the flat, though had politely declined the invitation to join them at their wedding.

Tom chuckles. "I hadn't forgotten," he grins.

Mr Docherty doffs his cap to the young couple and smiles. "Well, I leave you to it then," he says. "Make the most of it while you can, it's not the same when you've got children running around all over the place."

Sybil laughs as she links her arm through Tom's whilst the only thing he can do is to stand there and shake his head. "Goodnight, Mr Docherty."

"Goodnight, Mrs Branson."

Hearing her new title for the first time sends a thrilling tingle down Sybil's spine and, all of a sudden, the plain gold band adorning her left hand feels incredibly heavy as though it's trying to alert her to its presence. She glances down at it, wriggling her fingers and watching as the dim light reflects off the precious metal. It suddenly hits her with the full force of a moving car - it happened. It actually happened. She is Mrs Tom Branson and he is her husband.

Everything is settled

She doesn't really have time to dwell on this further as she's caught completely off guard when he sweeps her up into his arms, taking those first few steps into their new home. Setting her down on her feet again, he lets his hands linger on her waist, listening to that part of his brain that keeps telling him that it's alright to touch her - there are no more rules anymore, save for those ones they make themselves.

"I love you," she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck. It's not something she says often, even though it's clear for anyone to see that she does indeed adore him, but now seems like as good a time as any. "And thank you, for making this the happiest day of my life."

Tom smiles again and leans in to nuzzle his nose against hers - he'd never really understood what people had meant when they said that about their wedding days and thought it to be just a giant cliché but, standing here with his beautiful wife in his arms, he thinks he finally gets it. His jaw had dropped when he turned to see her coming down the aisle towards him on the arm of his eldest brother - that gesture hadn't been so much as him standing in to give her away, but rather to bring her into the Branson family. Her smile had shone brighter than the diamonds in her hair, despite the absence of the majority of her family and not even he, a man paid to write, could even begin to convey just how he'd felt when Father Quinn had proclaimed them husband and wife at last and he'd lifted her veil to kiss her in a way that had made time stand still. Knowing his way with words, his brothers had demanded that he make some sort of speech at the commencement of the festivities down at the pub owned by the family of one of Tom's oldest friends, and he was unashamed to admit that he'd been fighting back his tears as he praised the love of his life for the world to hear. Her sisters had left the party just before the rain came, saying that they were catching an early ferry back to Liverpool in the morning and, after saying their goodbyes to everyone else, the newlyweds had left shortly after the elder Crawley sisters to continue their celebrations privately.

Everything is settled.

Just as he's about to kiss her for what feels like the millionth time that day, Tom's head snaps up and he finally notices what's different about the flat. Their main living space is illuminated with a soft glow that only comes from a lit candle. Taking Sybil's hand firmly in his, he takes a few tentative steps forward to get a clearer view and, sure enough, the kitchen table, the fireplace and almost every other surface in their general living area was covered with the things. The pair share a curious glance before Sybil's attention is drawn to something else. There, on top of the mantelpiece, is a bowl of fresh and juicy looking strawberries, a bottle of what she knows to be very expensive French champagne and a note addressed to Mr and Mrs Branson in Edith's handwriting.

_Our dear sister and brother-in-law._

_It seems like just yesterday that Papa ushered us into his and Mama's bedroom, introducing us to our new baby sister. We knew from the very beginning that you were always going to march to the beat of your own drum and now here you are, a married woman pursuing your dreams and following your heart, just as you always said you would. You've become such a wonderful woman, Sybil, and we are both so incredibly proud of you. _

_As for you, Tom - gosh, it does seem so strange to call you that after all these years - knowing you as we do now, it is clear that you truly are all of the things that Sybil says you are. You are our brother now, and you will always be welcome in our households, wherever and whenever that may be. Look after our dear little sister for us and write as often as you can, both of you. _

_Don't worry if you cannot be there to see us off in the morning - I'm sure that one day we will have the good fortune to understand why. _

_All our love, _

_Edith and Mary._

She leans her head against his shoulder, clutching the letter close to her heart as she finishes reading it aloud. Her sisters' acceptance of her marriage means the absolute world to her and it's nice to know that, in spite of everything, she does still have at least a small fraction of family back in England. What's just as special to her is the fact that today, here in Ireland... here at home, she has gained a whole new family and the most important member of it is standing right by her side with one hand on the small of her back and the other reaching out for the bottle in front of them.

"You know, this is a lovely gesture and all," says Tom. "But did your sisters not think to leave us any glasses?"

"Do we not have glasses?"

"Not ones for champagne... we have mugs."

"Then mugs will have to do then, won't they?" she beams, spinning effortlessly on the ball of her foot, her white gown swishing around her ankles a little as she hitches it up and crosses the room towards the kitchen cupboards in search of the mugs in question. Managing to tear his eyes off her for long enough, Tom sets about pulling the cushions and the throw which had been part of a wedding present from one of his aunts from the settee and arranges them and the gifts from her sisters on the floor creating a sort of indoor picnic. Mission accomplished, Sybil returns with the mugs in hand and sits herself down on the floor opposite Tom, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs underneath her.

He pops the cork on the champagne bottle and pours them both generous measures, ones which he keeps assuring her are average by Irish standards, though he's not entirely sure what's appropriate when it comes to champagne, having only ever tasted it once before in his life. Many years ago, long before becoming a chauffeur, he'd started in service as a footman and he and some of the other staff had managed to sneak a little of the leftovers from a party hosted by their employers. Of course, they hadn't been caught, but he hadn't really tasted enough to be able to decide whether or not he liked it.

"We should make a toast," Sybil says, watching the bubbles fizz.

"To us," Tom says after a brief pause. "And to the first of many nights spent together."

"To us," Sybil repeats with a slight blush on her cheeks. "And to our happiness... every waking minute of it."

**_-xxx-_**

The bubbles have gone straight to their heads and it's making them bolder, their laughter louder and their hands more animated. Neither is quite sure what time it is but, then again, they don't actually care - they have a lifetime ahead of them, and it's nice to be able to sit and talk without either of them having to leave the other. Their positions have changed now - Tom now with his back against the sofa, Sybil between his outstretched legs which trap her on either side of her body whilst she leans against his chest, both of them barefoot with his socks and her stockings having been discarded long ago. His nimble fingers manage to locate the last of the many pins which have kept her elaborate hairstyle in place all day after he'd offered to help her take it down just as he had done that night at the Swan Inn what feels like a lifetime ago now. He adores the fragrant lavender smell of her hair - the curls such a deep shade of brown that they almost look ebony until the light shines on them - and the way it tumbles down her back. Finally, he removes her headpiece, a priceless family heirloom that he's amazed she's kept in this long.

"I was frightened of losing it," she says, taking it from him and turning it over in her hands. "I know I said I didn't want all the embellishments and the jewels, but it means so much to me that Mary and Edith brought it over with them. It means that, however reluctant she was, Granny relinquished it and that means that this was recognised as a Crawley wedding. I know that it's a lot less traditional than the ones they're used to, not to say anything of the choice of groom, but it's a Crawley wedding nonetheless."

Tom sighs. "And yet they still didn't come."

"It doesn't matter," she replies quietly. "It did at first, but not anymore. It's all in the past and what **does** matter is our future together... and you said so yourself that they'll come round eventually."

Her husband affectionately kisses the top of her head. "I know, love," he replies. "But I just wanted this day to be perfect for you."

"And it was... it **is**," Sybil tells him sincerely. "I'm your wife, Tom. What could be more perfect than that?" It's only in that moment that she realises something - she isn't actually his wife yet, not properly at any rate. Taking a deep breath, she knows that it's time at last.

Everything is settled.

"Tom," she says, trying her best not to sound too timid as she pulls her hair aside. "Could... could you unfasten my dress for me, please?"

She hears him audibly swallow behind her before his hands caress her back, roaming up and down and then up to her shoulders again before setting about his task. He takes his time, both so as he's careful not to snag the delicate fabric and also so that he can savour this moment. "Is that alright?" he asks once the last one is undone.

"Yes, quite," Sybil replies as she gets to her feet. "Thank you."

Just as it had done in the church that morning, Tom's jaw drops as she lets her dress fall to the floor in a heap of white satin and lace at her feet, leaving her in just her corset and under things. He feels his mouth go dry and his trousers start to tighten as she begins undoing the front clasps of her corset, tossing that aside too once she's done with it. Silently, she asks him for the champagne bottle which she rather shockingly drinks straight out of before passing it back to him. Having mustered enough courage, she slips the thin straps of her chemise off her shoulders before letting that too pool at her feet. She watches him intently as she stands before him in nothing but her knickers and suddenly comes across as being incredibly self-conscious when she can't gauge his reaction. She instinctively moves her hand to cover herself up, wondering if he thinks that her breasts are too small, her hips too wide or a whole number of other things that could possibly be wrong with her body to make him repulsed by what he sees. But then this is Tom, and she knows that she's probably way off the mark - a fact confirmed when he takes hold of her hand and pulls her back down onto her knees so that she's facing him.

He's well aware of the fact that her beautifully round breasts with their pert rose coloured nipples which have so long been one of the subjects of his many fantasies are right there to tempt him and that he's perfectly within his right to touch them but, in this moment, he can't bring himself to look anywhere but her eyes. She's just as beautiful as he imagined, probably even more so, but her eyes are the part of her body that he loves the most beside her heart. If there's one thing about her aristocratic heritage that **has** taken root in her then it's the fact that she's not really sure of how to convey her feelings and emotions with words and, even if she is, then she's always been brought up that it simply isn't done. That's why he adores her eyes so much, not because of the colour, as stunning as that is, but because Tom has always been an avid reader and not just of books. He can tell so much just by looking into her eyes and, right now, he sees all the love she has to give staring back at him, as well as a flicker of nervousness and uncertainty.

Sybil is the one who reaches out first, mirroring his actions from just a few moments earlier and beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt. Soon enough, he too is naked from the waist up and she can't help but think that he's the most beautiful human being that she's ever seen. Following Tom's lead, she gently lies down on the floor with her head resting on a cushion and her hands once again coming up to cover her breasts.

"Don't do that," Tom says tenderly as he takes hold of her wrists, caressing the skin and feeling her pulse beginning to race. "Please don't feel shy around me. You... you're a goddess, Sybil."

She smiles back at him, feeling the blush radiate across her entire body and nodding in consent as his thumbs hook under the waistband of her knickers. This is it, the final barrier, and she lifts her hips up off the floor to help him slide them off.

"Beautiful," he whispers, completely awestruck by the fact that she is even more stunning than he had ever dared to imaging. "So, so beautiful." He's been with girls before, but none of them had been virgins when he'd tumbled into bed with them or wherever it had been that they'd committed their sins. This is different though, because this isn't just another of those girls who had all but thrown themselves at him when he was a silly and reckless boy, this is his wedding night and his wife is the woman he loves with every fibre of his being. This is her first time - **their** first time together - and it has to be special though, because from what he knows, he's sure that this isn't going to be entirely pleasant for her and he just needs to find a way to help her relax. He won't push her if she isn't ready, but the way a tiny drop of champagne clings to her lip before rolling down her chin as she takes another drink from the bottle gives him an idea.

"Lie back," he says, taking the bottle from her hands. "And trust me."

He places a thumb over the top of the bottle to control the amount of liquid that can come out as he begins to pour it over her body. She jumps at first, startled by the cold but then quickly becomes accustomed to the rather pleasant feeling. Tom watches in fascination as the champagne drips down between the valley of her breasts, pooling a little in the hollow of her belly button and further south still into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Positioning himself between her legs and supporting his weight on his strong forearms, he hovers over her and leans in to kiss her, her mouth opening and tongue yielding to his, sighing in pleasure as she feels his erection briefly brush against her centre. She mourns the loss of his lips from hers, but willingly accepts her consolation prize as his kisses continue along her jaw and down her neck, finally to her sternum and her breasts. She whimpers as he gently begins to caress one of them with a large and work worn hand, his tongue lasciviously paying attention to the other as he circles her stiff nipple, drawing the little peak into his mouth and ever so carefully letting his teeth graze across the sensitive flesh. He repeats the process on the other, deciding that he could quite happily spend all day kissing and squeezing his wife's breasts but, just for tonight, there is another part of her anatomy that he is keen to get to and he knows that what he has planned will certainly set her on fire.

She giggles as he laps the champagne from out of her bellybutton and he chuckles at the fact that he might have just found a new ticklish spot. Oh yes, he most certainly likes the taste of it but, as he finally brings his head between her parted thighs, he knows that he's about to taste something far sweeter than the nectar of the gods of Olympus. He takes it slowly, flicking his tongue across her clitoris and feeling her shudder with delight. Taking her response as his cue to continue and a sign that she's enjoying it, he gives into temptation and just lets himself indulge his fantasies of licking and sucking at her most intimate place. Quickly glancing up, he can see that she's trying to fight whatever it is that is consuming her body.

"It's alright," he whispers, moving his face away from her for a moment, replacing his tongue with a finger as he circles her nub and, feeling just how wet she is, slips it between her delicate folds and giving her another new type of pleasure. "It's just us... let go."

"Ohhh," Sybil moans loudly. "Yes Tom, more... please... please," she begs. She feels that familiar feeling in her lower abdomen - the one she quite often gets whenever he kisses her - only, this time, it's more intense than she's ever known it before and she's hurtling towards the thing she's only ever heard whispered about in the dormitories when she was doing her training in York or come across in books that would make her father prefer her political learning's if he knew that she'd read them.

He adds another finger, ever being the faithful servant and obeying his Lady's command, and it's all it takes to make her shatter. He can't believe how tight she is as he feels her walls clench around his fingers, her hips bucking erratically against him as he lowers his mouth to her clitoris one last time to draw out the ecstasy of her very first orgasm. Eventually, Sybil stills and manages to find enough strength to reach down and run her fingers thorough his soft sandy brown hair.

"That was..."

"I know," he says when she can't quite find the words and places a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh. "I know... and it was for me too." He pulls himself up so that he can move to lie next to her, closing his eyes at the sensation of having her fingernails scratch against the hairs on his chest. Her hand finally comes to rest on his belt buckle and she looks questioningly into eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asks, knowing that it's time.

Sybil nods. "I'm sure, Tom," she says. "I'm ready... I've been ready for so long."

Tom half laughs and kisses the tip of her nose. True to the vow they'd made shortly after their failed elopement, they had decided to wait to be together until their wedding night having decided that they should perhaps try to do at least one thing properly. It had been so hard, especially on the night when she'd come to him at the Grantham Arms in search of comfort after Lavinia had passed and it had been tempting for him just to show her what it meant to feel alive and just how much he loved her. The second time had been when they'd shared a bed in Liverpool the night before they'd left for Ireland - things had very nearly progressed too far then, but they'd both agreed that it should be in a place that was theirs and theirs alone, and not in a slightly dilapidated hotel somewhere just across from the Pier Head. Thankfully, he'd only spent a couple of nights at his mother's house before going to stay with an old friend until the wedding and so the thought of marching straight upstairs to put an end to the illicit thoughts of her sleeping in his old bed, naked in the oppressive summer heat, hadn't lasted all that long either. But now, as he'd just said to her, it was just them - the two of them alone in a flat that **is** theirs and theirs alone, where they can surrender to their innermost desires and let loose their inhibitions at long last.

He helps her with his belt before getting to his feet and offering her a hand up too. He's not entirely sure what to do with his hands as she works at the fastenings of his trousers and so is grateful when she lets him remove them himself, pulling his underwear down with it. She gasps as his erection springs free - of course, she's seen the male anatomy in all its glory before but not like this. This isn't clinical, this is purely sexual and Sybil feels that fire in her belly again as it suddenly dawns on her that **she** is the cause of his arousal, the he so obviously wants her just as much as she wants him and it's enough to make her feel wanton and powerful. Stepping into Tom's embrace, she kisses him passionately as she lets her hands roam across his body, paying particular attention to those broad shoulders and perfectly formed arse cheeks that she's been forced to admire from a distance until now. Much to her annoyance, she freezes when she reaches his hip, suddenly finding herself unable to go any further. She can't seem to bring herself to touch his length, let alone drop to her knees and wrap her lips around it as she'd once had a very erotic dream about doing after reading a similar scene in one of those romances she'd come across hidden away in her father's library.

Sensing her sudden shyness, Tom takes hold of her hand in both of his. "You don't have to, you know," he says, sensing that she feels guilty for not being able to pleasure him as he had her. "We don't have to do anything if you're not comfortable with it. We can..."

"No," she interrupts, her eyes snapping up to meet his. "No, I want to, I really do. Though, for some reason, I just can't seem to be able to do... **that**. At least not yet. But... there are other things I know I can do."

His eyes light up and he gives her a devilish smirk as he scoops her up into his arms as he had done outside when he'd carried her across the threshold, making her squeal with delight. "Where to, milady?"

"Bed, Branson," she replies in her best haughty upper class tone. "I think it's time for bed."

He carries her into the larger of the two bedrooms that they'd decided upon for themselves and drops her rather unceremoniously onto the bed. She giggles, the sound of her laughter more beautiful than the song of a nightingale to his ears, and pulls her husband down to join her. After a bit of kissing and some tender caressing, he moves on top of her and she can feel his hardness against her thigh. She wonders how it is that many brides come to be so terrified on their wedding nights but, then again, with the stories the older generations tell sometimes it's really no wonder. She's a little nervous, but not scared because she knows that she's married a man who absolutely adores her, who was her best friend and her equal... her partner just as much as her husband.

"I love you so much," he whispers, brushing her hair from her face and gazing down at her with so much love in his eyes that Sybil thinks she might just melt.

"And I you," she replies. "Make me yours, Tom... body and soul. I gave my heart to you the day we first met, I'm just sorry that it took me so long to realise it."

"Now isn't the time for apologies," he says. "And, anyway, not that it matters. You're here and you love me... I told you once that I would have waited forever and even now I hold to that. They said that we wouldn't do it, that we **couldn't** do it... but... look at us, Sybil, look how far we've come."

"And how far we've still got left to go."

"Exactly," he smiles, still unable to believe just how blessed he is to be able to share his life with this truly remarkable woman.

"I love you," Sybil says, cupping his face in her hands. "Now be a good husband and make love to your wife... that's something that **I **don't particularly want to wait forever for."

Tom laughs and is only too happy to oblige.

Everything is settled.


	2. The Morning After the Night Before

**_Thank you for the amazing response to the previous chapter - this was only supposed to be a oneshot, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to write more. There may actually be a couple more chapters, because I have this headcanon that Sybil and Tom went down to the coast for a long weekend a few days after they were married. Maybe there might be some honeymoon sexytimes, if you're up for reading that._**

* * *

Sybil wakes as the morning sunlight streams in through a gap in the curtains, stretching out her limbs so feline like to alleviate some of the not entirely unpleasant aches that follow a night of deep sleep. She yawns and buries her head back into the pillow just as she always does; allowing herself to come out of her slumber gradually seeing as how there's nothing that she urgently has to get up for. Since starting work during the war, she has come to appreciate the lazy mornings that she had taken for granted practically all her life. She enjoys the feeling of fresh linen against her skin and the sound of the birds twittering away from somewhere outside of her window but. today, she's greeted by the sound of something new - somewhere very near, she can here various items of crockery clattering together and... Singing? Well it's more like humming and the mumbled words are in a language that she doesn't yet understand but, when her eyelids flutter open and she's greeted with by the sight of an unfamiliar room as her eyes adjust to the light, the memories of everything that had happened the day before come flooding back and she can't help but smile.

"So sleeping beauty's awake at last then?"

Her grin grows wider still at the sight of her husband standing there in the doorway, two cups of tea in hand and wearing nothing but a pair of striped pyjama trousers which sit low on his hips. Sybil has decided that she adores seeing him like this - so natural and relaxed - with his tousled hair and stubbled chin, it's a far cry from the immaculate and constricting uniform he'd worn during his days in service and it thrills her that she and she alone will be the one who gets to see him this way each and every morning for the rest of their lives together.

"Hmmm, breakfast in bed," she sighs, instinctively clutching the thin cotton sheet to her chest to cover her breasts. "You do spoil me."  
Tom chuckles as he steps into their bedroom and sets the cups down on his bedside table before resuming his place next to her again, propping himself up on his elbow. "Well you're a married woman now, milady," he teases. "I just thought I'd make you feel more at home."

"This is my home," she says, poking him in the ribs even though she caught his jest. "My home is where you are."

He goes quiet then before cocking his head and furrowing his brow as a thought crosses his mind. "What if I lived in a pig shed?"  
"Then that would be home too."

"Even with the pigs?"

"Yes, Tom," she laughs. "Even with the pigs."

"What about Downton?"

"What about it?"

"What if I lived at Downton, or somewhere like that, but as lord of the manor instead of a working class lad from Dublin. Could you still call it home then, even if it meant that you were still trapped by that old way of life?"

Sybil sighs. "Tom, I wouldn't care if you were the King of Siam or poor as a church mouse, I'd love you regardless and wherever we lived our lives together would be our home... because my home is here."

He looks down to see her hand over his heart and covers it with his own, marvelling, not for the first time, about how pale her skin is in comparison to his - like porcelain or the first snow of winter. "Sybil..."

"I know that on paper I'm still technically **Lady** Sybil, but I'm **your** Lady," she continues, staring straight into his eyes and moving her hand up to play with his hair. "And in my heart, I'll be forever more just plain old Mrs Branson... because the only title I care about is that of your wife. The rest is detail."

Tom chuckles, adoring how she has a habit of using his own words against him sometimes. "You'll never just be plain old anything," tracing his fingers down the bare skin of her arm. "But if you're my lady, then what am I to you?"

After a moment's thought (and in a very daring move), rolls over so that she's straddling Tom's thighs, not giving a second thought to the fact that the thin sheet has slipped down to her waist. What they had done last night had left her feeling bold and empowered - her body was his now just as his was hers, and she no longer felt so self-conscious or aware of any of her insecurities. He had worshipped her like a goddess, kissing and caressing every part of her and committing it to memory for the rest of his days. For the first time in her life, Sybil had truly felt and believed that she was beautiful, not because a man was telling her so, but because she was in love, because she was so happy and content with what her life had become - it was an inner beauty, the flame of which was kindled deep within her soaring heart, radiated out for the world to see. Even now, she still feels as though she's flying and absolutely nothing could ever bring her down again.

"You're **my** Tom," she smiles, gazing down at him adoringly. "Forever. It's official, see?" She wiggles the fingers of her left hand in his face, drawing his attention to the gold band on her fourth finger. Alright, so she doesn't have the huge, glittering diamond that Sir Richard had given to Mary, but this humble symbol of her love and commitment to her husband was more precious to her than the Kohinoor.

Tom lets his head sink back into the pillows and is content just to watch his beautiful wife as she reaches for one of the teacups on the bedside table, studying the way she sits up so incredibly straight like she would in the drawing rooms of some of Britain's most revered homes save for the fact that she's now completely naked and her long dark hair falls in wild curls down her back and about her shoulders. Her full lips are parted slightly and there's an almost vacant look on her face as she gazes at the wall behind him. Even in the throes of passion last night, as her whole body was consumed by pleasure, he had never seen her looking so natural.

"What are you thinking about?"

It takes her a moment for her to register his voice, but Sybil's eyes quickly snap back to his and she smiles at him from behind her cup. "Can we do this every Saturday?" she asks. "We'll both be working all week and I'll only have to work one weekend a month, do why don't we just have lazy Saturday mornings where we stay in bed and drink tea, talking about everything and anything and what's going on in the world like we used to in the old days."

Tom grows pensive for a moment before giving her a roguish grin. "Will you be naked?"

"I might be," she teases and gladly relinquishes her cup to him.

Once he's returned the cup to where she got it from, Tom sits up in bed and places his hands on his wife's hips, tenderly caressing up to the undersides of her breasts and back down again. Sybil drapes her own arms around his neck and the pair share a long, slow and languid kiss. He groans as she bucks against his erection and, sensing that he enjoys it, she repeats the action much more deliberately.

"You're feeling very bold this morning."

"I slept on it."

"I know you did," he laughs, recalling how they'd drifted off to sleep in a tangle of limbs after their lust had finally been sated.

Sybil's face grows serious for a moment and she pulls back slightly to look at him. "Tom, were you alright that I didn't... that I couldn't..."

"Oh my darling," he sighs, understanding the reference to how she had found herself to be able to pleasure him as he had her last night. "It's fine, honestly... we've got a lifetime to try new things together."

Her lips curl up into the hint of a smile, relieved at his reassurance, and she can't help but remember just how wonderful he had been to her. It had hurt and it was uncomfortable at first, but he'd shared her pain, encouraging her to dig her fingernails into his back as he'd pushed into her for the first time before kissing away the tears from her cheeks that she hadn't even realised she was crying. What had perhaps stunned her more than anything though was what had happened afterwards - they'd held each other in the darkness, with their sweat drenched skin and heaving breathes, relishing in the fact that they truly belonged to each other at last. Sybil hadn't been sure of how long they'd been lying like that when, with a kiss on her forehead, he'd got up from the bed and crossed the room to the chest of drawers by the wall on his side. With what money her father had given to the couple, they'd been able to afford quite a modest little flat in a nice enough area of the city, complete with hot running water and a small bathroom. This had been the cause of their first real argument, with Sybil maintaining that they would be just fine without a luxury such as a bathroom and that they should put the money away to provide for their children's education in the future, both having agreed that they would be afforded the opportunity their parents never had and could go to a real school or University should they desire it. Tom, however, had insisted that this **was** a good investment for their children, as he didn't want them to know what it felt like to feel so cold at night that you were scared to fall asleep for fear of never waking up or those god-awful trips to the communal privy when it reeked in the heat of summer. In the end though, all it had taken was for them to find this particular flat and they'd both fallen head over heels in love with it - it had been much cheaper than they had anticipated too, what with the previous tenants having left the city in something in a hurry and the landlord (who happened to be a cousin of Tom's - but, then again, who in Dublin wasn't?) and they still had the money to put away for a rainy day. In spite of all this, old habits had died hard and Tom had kept a washbowl and a jug of water close to hand and it was this to which he turned his attention to after leaving Sybil in bed, returning with a damp cloth only to settle himself back between her legs. There had been nothing sexual about it though, and with more love and care than anyone had ever shown her before, had tenderly cleansed the small amount of blood from her thighs before placing a kiss to the soft flesh before pulling the sheets over them both, right over their heads and hiding them away from the rest of the world.

Sybil takes her husband's face into her hands and looks deep into his eyes again. "Why did you do that last night?" she asks. "With the cloth?"

Tom gives a slight shrug of the shoulders. "I don't know, really," he admits. "It just seemed like something that was right to do."

"I can't imagine that it's something many men would do for their wives," she smiles. "But then I suppose you're not like most men." She takes hold of his wrists then and bringing his hands to her chest, pressing them against her breasts as she grinds her hips against him again. He knows what she wants, but he just wants to hear her say it, never wanting her to be shy of expressing her desires. "Touch me, Tom."

He's only too happy to oblige, brushing his thumbs across her nipples, hardened with the exposure to the cool morning air and the arousal coursing through her body. She sighs and tosses her head back as he draws one little peak into his mouth, swirling his very clever tongue (which has more talents than just the gift of the gab, Sybil is beginning to learn) around it and savouring the taste of her skin. Her fingers rake though his hair, tugging and scratching her nails across his scalp. This isn't like it was last night - there's an urgency to it, both of them just giving in to their lust and desire, knowing that, as Tom had said to her, they have a lifetime in which to discover each other. This is instinct and just indulging themselves in everything they had ever thought about doing to each other when they had lain awake at night in their beds which seemed so cold and lonely now that they knew what it was like to sleep beside each other.

In a combined effort, they manage to divest Tom of his trousers and Sybil tightens her grip on his hair as she sinks down onto his length - she's still somewhat tender and she can feel every inch of him filling her at this new angle. It's a little difficult at first, but they soon fall into a rhythm that has them both gasping and sighing in pleasure. He wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her so impossibly close to him, her breasts pressing right against his chest, as he feels his release building. Dropping one hand between them both to where their bodies are joined, he circles her clitoris with his fingers and she tears her mouth away from his, crying out his name as she shatters. Tom lets his head drops to her shoulder, her own name coming out in an incoherent mumble as he too comes apart.

"I love you," she says breathlessly, her eyes fluttering closed as she savours the feeling of him still inside of her and that perfect state of bliss that comes after orgasm. "So much."

"How much time do we have before we have to meet your sisters for tea?"

"Not until eleven, why?" Sybil asks with a kiss to his nose, squealing in delight as he rolls them both over so that she's now on her back.

"Because we're doing that again."


End file.
